


Time to Learn

by Louffox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coffee, Drugs, F/M, Flu, M/M, Sick Castiel, Stoned, Weed, Whump, cas learns to drive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For all the time that Castiel has existed, he's never spent much time really experiencing humanity, just watching. Curiosity killed the Cas. Dean does his best to help the fool angel survive earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time to Learn

            Castiel was not someone Dean thought of as wanting to ‘explore’. So when the angel approached with that expression (it was puzzled, but that was normal on Cas’s face- this particular expression was a combination of puzzled, determined, and hopeful, like a child asking his mother for a bonus on his allowance, fairly certain he would get a no, but hopeful nonetheless) Dean didn’t expect much. Maybe the angel was struggling with the television again, or he wanted to go sightseeing. Something innocent and foolish like that. Dean lost interest and resumed scanning the newspaper.

            “I wish to experience the altered state of ‘high’,” was what came out of Castiel’s mouth.

            Dean was sure that, if he’d been drinking anything, he would’ve done a spit take, or if he’d been sitting on a chair rather than the couch, he would’ve fallen out of it. As is, he looked up so quickly that he almost gave himself whiplash.

            “You _what_?!” Dean asked, a laugh in his voice, unable to keep a bemused grin off his face.

            “I believe I spoke at an adequate volume,” Cas replied stonily.

            “Yeah, yeah, I heard you… but… where the hell did you get this idea?”

            “A man was handing out flyers on the street talking about the benefits of marijuana. I would like to form my own opinion. And you always are telling me to ‘lighten up’,” he said, using air quotes, “and the man with the flyers told me that it’s extremely helpful in the ‘lightening up’ department.”

            “So… you want me to go find a dealer-,”

            “Like a car dealer?” Dean thought for a second.

            “No. Yes. Sort of, but without the fake charm. Or any charm at all. But… I’m going to go find you a dealer and find you some weed, and you’re going to smoke it?”

            “That’s what’s required to get high? I thought weed was something in badly maintained lawns,” Castiel said, the oh-so-familiar confused little furrow appearing between his brows.

            “No, weed is just a nickname for it. It’s… a misnomer, or something like that.”

            “Oh, like ‘jugs’ doesn’t actually mean fluid containers, but b-,”

            “Yeah, like that,” Dean said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was like raising a child. A powerful, teleporting child with full-blown aspergers.

            “I see,” Cas said sagely.

            “Alright, look. It’s gonna take me some time to track someone down and get some. We’re going to do this right- no shitty oregano rip-off or anything. Don’t mention this to Sam, he’s not exactly… well, he’s very anti-substance. It’s a good thing you came to me and not him- you’d get a lecture about ‘good decisions’ and ‘gateway drugs’. We’re doing this together, too. If I’m going to go buy this and track some down, then I want in, and I don’t want you doing this alone or with strangers.”

            “Yes, I was more certain of you than of Sam. You’re more morally compromised and sinful,” Cas said helpfully.

            “Great. Thanks. Come back tonight, I’ll get Sam gone and have some. Got it?”

            “No, you’re supposed to get it. I don’t have any,” he replied, confused.

            Dean just shook his head, not bothering to explain. He definitely deserved a little trip for all the shit he went through with this damn fool.

~*~*~**~*~*~**~**~*~**~**~*~**~*~*~

            True to his word, the anger reappeared (literally- thank goodness Dean was used to it, he almost dumped the little paper full of green all over the floor) that night, soon after Sam had left to go look at the library and get some groceries. Dean wasn’t too concerned about hiding it from him, just making sure that when he found out, it would be too late to stop them. No matter what he did, Sam would be able to smell it, anyways.

            “That smells strange. Like a skunk,” Cas observed. “Not very pleasant. We’re going to breathe that in?”

            “The smoke from it, yeah. It would be better if I had a pipe, but I wasn’t going to buy a piece for just a recreational, once-in-a-while thing. It’s not as good this way, but luckily I found some good-quality stuff. I don’t know what your tolerance will be like, but I got enough that we’ll get you high, no matter what,” he said with a grin, carefully rolling the joint.

            “I don’t want to risk an overdose.”

            “You can’t overdose on dope, ya dope.”

            “Ah, that would be why I couldn’t find any death statistics about it. I did a bit of research this afternoon. I don’t believe my tolerance will be as high with this as it is with alcohol. I also know the other nicknames for it now, I see your reference to calling it ‘dope’,” he said proudly.

            “Good for you- being proactive. Now time for your live education. This,” he said, holding it up, “is a joint. Also known as a roach or a blunt. Ever smoked a cigarette?”

            “Once, but I believe I did it incorrectly. I almost threw up.”

            “Well, I’ll teach you how to do it right. I’ll explain it, then show you, then you can try. I’ll light it, and you won’t have to bother with it. Now, you’re going to put this end in your mouth,” he explained, not trusting the angel to put the burning end in his mouth, “And inhale. Don’t suck on it, just breath through it like a straw. Hold it in for a few seconds, then blow it out. You’ll probably cough up a lung, just don’t drop the roach and set the carpet on fire or anything. I wouldn’t take too big of a hit your first time, either. Watch,” he said, lighting the end expertly, pleased he still remembered how, and took a good sized toke, letting it drift in his mouth and lungs before blowing it out slowly in a long, thin stream.

            He passed it over to Cas, already feeling the effects. It had been a while- gosh, it had been a few years. The last time… there was that girl in Tennessee, with the belly button piercing and tattoos on her thighs- the _tops_ of her thighs.

            Cas delicately took the joint like it was a stick of dynamite and looked at Dean. He nodded in encouragement, smiling dopily at the sight of the deadpan angel in a tie and trench coat, holding a smoldering joint.

            Sure enough, Cas coughed uncontrollably for almost a full minute after his first hit, leaving Dean to take a few small tokes around laughing at him.

            “I don’t think it’s working,” he said sullenly.

            “Well, you aren’t gonna get high off your first hit. You’ve got a ways to go, but don’t worry, we’ll get you there. Try again, it won’t be so bad this time. Relax a little, then you won’t cough so hard. It’ll get easier with every go at it,” he assured him, unable to get his face to change from the small, sleepy, content smile it had fixed itself in.

            By the time the joint was dead, Cas admitted he was starting to feel a little odd.

            “I’ve got enough for another one or two here, you want to keep going?” Dean asked, feeling pretty good himself. He’d only taken small hits, holding it so Cas could recover between each hit, giving the amateur most of it, knowing that if he tried to keep up, hit-for-hit, he’d be high until the next afternoon. Waking up still stoned wasn’t nearly as bad as a hangover, but it was still really weird.

            “Yes. I wish to get blitzed,” Cas declared.

            “’Blitzed’ means drunk. You’re thinking burnt. Stoned, toasted, baked.”

            “I see how burnt, toasted, and baked all relate to the fire, but how does ‘stoned’ pertain to smoking a plant?”

            “No clue. It’ll make sense by the time you get stoned, trust me,” Dean laughed, steadily rolling another joint.

            By the time that one and half of the last one was gone, Cas was well and truly stoned.

            “You’re right, it makes sense now,” he said, beginning to chuckle. “It doesn’t make sense, that it makes sense now and didn’t earlier and I haven’t learned anything to change that.”

            “Maybe… because stones roll, and we’re… like, rolling?” Dean said, struggling to explain his train of thought.

            “No, more like… I feel as though my insides have turned to stone. But not hard like stone. Like… heavy. My mass has increased- somehow, I’ve recreated a nuke in reverse, and turned- turned energy into mass! But I’m not any larger, I haven’t increased volume. How… This is phenomenal. I need something with cheese,” he rambled, changing his train of thought rapidly. He realized that he’d changed subjects with no seguay and began laughing.

            “Oh my god. There’s a fucking _angel_ sitting with me, smoking some really great weed, talking about nuclear physics,” Dean said, needing to explain the situation to Cas. “This is so crazy-,” he stopped talking, unable to talk around his laughter. He was laughing so hard it was just silent, his shoulders shaking.

            “Dean. I need to try flavorful foods, something cheesy. It’s… very urgent. And a fruity drink!” Cas said, eyes wide. He felt like they were glowing, like where he looked in the room should show spots of light from where they shone, like flashlights.

            “That, Cas my man, is an excellent idea.”

            Cas furrowed his brow, trying to figure out how they could achieve the goal of acquiring flavorful food and drink. “Oh! I can fly! I’ll retrieve what we want, of course!” he exclaimed, so glad for his grace.

            “Angel mojo, score! Yes! This is so awesome!” Dean said, flopping backwards on the couch to laugh, holding his ribs he was laughing so much.

            He stopped laughing and sat up quickly with a gasp when there was a crash, but doubled over again when he realized what had happened. Cas had tried to do his teleport-angel-flying thing, but he’d ended up on the other side of the room and had crashed face-first into the wall. He was staggering back, hands on his forehead, looking so surprised that Dean wanted to take a picture (the thought drifted away as quickly as it came, and he was confused what he’d pulled his phone out for).

            “That wasn’t my intention,” Cas said, confused.

            “Holy shit, your angel mojo is all high too!” Dean cackled, pointing unsteadily at him. Then an epiphany dawned on him, and his face fell. “Aww man, this means no snacks? No juice?”

            “Are you safe to drive? I don’t think I’m even safe to walk.” He wasn’t about to give up on feeding his sudden cravings.

            “No way, I’ve driven high before, but this is not gonna be one of those times, I’m way too far gone. And I let Sam take the car, shit,” he groaned, scowling at the door.

            “Now what?”

            As if on cue, the door rattled, unlocked, and Sam walked in, bearing armloads of grocery bags. He stopped in the doorway when the room was suddenly full of cheering. Before he even saw the two in the room, his ears and nose were telling him exactly what he’d missed.

            “You guys are high? Are you kidding me!?” he all but shouted, dropping the groceries.

            “Close the door, you goof, you want the whole place to hear? Get our asses arrested?” Dean bellowed.

            “Wait, this… this is illegal, isn’t it!” Cas remembered, covering his mouth with horror. Then he began laughing.

            “Cas? You’ve been smoking weed? I thought you knew better!” Sam groaned, covering his eyes. Dean ignored him, already looking through the bags.

            “Sammy, you get any- oh, hell yes, pay dirt!” he exclaimed, pulling out a bag of beef jerky and a gallon of grape juice.

            “That’s my grape juice,” Sam said grumpily.

            “And that’s my card you bought it with.”

            “No, it’s someone’s with the name ‘Walter Fritzenbach’.”

            “Old school nickname, Walden Fritz-in-whatever totally means me. Heads up, Cas,” Dean said, tossing him a box of cheese-its.

            “Yes,” Cas groaned, opening it and putting a handful in his mouth. “Yes, yes, yes. I needed this.”

            “You gotta try this, it’s got so many flavors I can’t even handle it,” Dean said, dropping a piece of beef jerky in the box and taking a handful of crackers.

            “Oh. Great. So going to the grocery store wasn’t anything necessary- it was just to get me away so you could get high, then so you’d have something to feed your munchies?” Sam exclaimed.

            “Sounds about right,” Dean snorted. “The munchies thing was more of a convenient bonus, though.”

            “Munchies? Is that the word for this feeling?” Cas asked through a mouthful, spraying crumbs everywhere. They both went into stitches while Sam stalked across the room and threw a window open, still lecturing, but Cas couldn’t really hear him- he was listening too hard to the crunching in his mouth. He could hear sound that was inside his head, in between his ears. Why had he never marveled about that before?

            “And I think-,” Sam continued, but Dean cut him off.

            “Know what I think?”

            “I wouldn’t dare guess,” his younger brother grumbled.

            “I think you should’ve got here earlier and got in on this.”

            Sam flushed with anger and disbelief, which just made his two baked companions hoot and holler.

            Ten minutes later, Sam was lying in the other room with the window open and a pair of headphones on, deliberately trying to ignore what was going on in the other room. Cas had lost interest in the food after downing a few glasses of room temperature grape juice (it felt so amazing and liquidy in his mouth he didn’t want to swallow, just let it sit on his tongue for hours) and was meandering around the room. Sam had taken their bags of weapons into the bedroom with him and put it under the bed. Dean called him distrustful, but knew he was probably right.

            Cas looked in a mirror and noted how bloodshot his sclera was, and frowned. He found a pair of sunglasses sitting on the desk and put them on, then sat in the chair.

            “Dude. It’s not bright in here. What’s up with the shades?”

            “I need them.”

            “Why?”

            “I just do.” _I need to hide my eyes_ , he thought. Because they were red, and he didn’t want people to see and know he was high. Then he spent a few minutes wondering if he’d said it out loud or had just said it in his head. The difference between talking out loud and talking in his head seemed to be malfunctioning. Then he realized Dean had been talking.

            “I’ve lost all ability to focus on more than one thing at once,” Cas announced, interrupting him. Dean paused for a second to catch up.

            “That’s alright. I get that. I think your tolerance was lower than we thought. We just went a bit overkill. I want to lay down and close my eyes, but every time I lay down, gravity gets stronger and I get the spins.”

            Cas tried closing his eyes, but he quickly felt the ‘spins’ sensation Dean talked about- it felt like the ground was slowly rotating beneath him in small increments, like he was sitting on the second hand of a clock. Tick tick tick. He opened his eyes again.

            “That’s unpleasant.”

            “Yep. We are way too high. Shit,” he said, but he laughed sluggishly.

            Cas began talking about things again, about how it was amazing how the smell of the weed, at first so stinky and repugnant, had somehow changed- now it was still skunky, but it was muskier, somehow appealing, and talked about how, as an angel, he was more succeptible to addiction, but how the studies he’d looked up said marijuana wasn’t something people got addicted to-

            Dean let out a snore, and Cas realized he’d just been talking in his head again, and Dean had dozed off. The angel got up and walked over to him (how strange and marvelous knees were, bending as a joint but keeping straight and being like they weren’t even there at the perfect points in walking, making it so fluid) and threw a blanket over him. He almost flew back to the place he was staying, but remembered at the last second that being high was not conducive to flying. So he thought and thought, and then sat back down in the recliner, reclined it as much as he could, closed his eyes (he was still wearing the sunglasses) and let himself sink into a sort of day-dreaming stupor, as close to sleeping as he could get.

            In the morning, he came out of his thoughts and realized he felt… odd. At a loss of what to do, he woke Dean. This was done not entirely intentionally. He walked over to Dean and examined his face, trying to see if he was in REM sleep. He wasn’t certain how to tell, but he’d heard that if you woke someone from REM, then they would be angry and disoriented- it was the worst cycle of sleep to wake them. Having never slept before, he decided to avoid it, not sure exactly how terrible it was to be woken from REM. His eyelids were twitching slightly, but he wasn’t sure if that was rapid enough to be rapid eye movement.

            But apparently his close proximity was enough to wake the hunter up anyways, regardless of Castiel’s intentions. He shouted in surprise, opening his eyes to find the angel so close to his face, and swatted at him instinctively. Cas was treated to another lecture on space and how to respect a sleeping person and he was again related to the male offspring of a mother dog, and the son of God’s name was used liberally.

            “Dean, I feel odd. I didn’t think that this kind of substance abuse came with a ‘hangover’. I think something’s wrong,” he finally said when Dean had gotten his anger out and was just rubbing his face tiredly.

            “Yeah, we baked way too much last night. Holy shit. I’m still a little high- you’re probably still totally burnt. Lemme make some coffee, that’ll help some.

            “I’m very… disoriented. This is almost as bad as a hangover,” he grumbled. Everything felt dreamlike and surreal, as if he was asleep.

            “Tell me about it. God, I haven’t done that in forever… How did you like it, though?” He began filling the coffee machine.

            “I’m… ask me later, when this wears off. I think it was fun. I’m not really certain of anything right now,” Cas groaned, sitting on a stool and putting his head down on the counter.

            “Coffee and a shower, you’ll be right as rain in a moment.”

            “Is rain very right?” Cas wondered. He didn’t think rain was wrong, but he wasn’t sure if it fit in the category of ‘right’ either.

            “I don’t freakin know.”

**Author's Note:**

> You know what makes me update more frequently? Seeing that people are actually reading this. It takes all of two seconds to click the Kudos! button, you don't even need to have an account. It makes a difference! Or leave a comment, just whether you like it or want something different.
> 
> Also, I'll take requests for other things for Cas to experience, so if there's anything fun you've always wanted to see, comment what you want, and I'll have a go at it! I'd like to keep this fairly smut-free, but I may have some romance eventually. For now, it's just squintable Destiel.


End file.
